


A Warm Gun (Between The Shadow And The Soul)

by amorremanet



Series: The Roxy 'verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Biting, Comfort Sex, Communication, Community: salt_burn_porn, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fingerfucking, Grinding, Light Dom/sub, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She moves to say something, coughs up a few disconnected syllables before Cas can lay two fingers over her mouth, before she can hiss, <b>No, don't. Just be quiet</b>—if Deanna has anything to say, it could distract them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Warm Gun (Between The Shadow And The Soul)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ~salt_burn_porn prompt (from ~orbiting_saturn and ~obstinatrix), _"when I feel my finger on your trigger."_

"Cas… _Cas_ … Hey, Cas?" Deanna flops onto her side with the grace of a rhinoceros, shifts the whole mattress with how she charges over, throws her arm around Cas's waist with the tact of a bullet to the head. Her voice clatters into the back of Cas's neck, and she really seems to think that trailing feather-light kisses down the curve of Cas's spine will make this any better. She only pauses once, to lick her lips before smacking them into a vertebra, working them all around it, grazing her teeth along Cas's skin—and she says, "Cas… Come on, Sexy, I know you're awake."

Cas sighs from the pit of her stomach but squirms further back into her girlfriend's embrace. They're sharing the bed in Cas's single dorm because the other option is separate rooms—with Deanna's situated on the other end of campus from Cas's, and from all of her classes besides—and as much as Cas didn't plan on this? She doesn't want to let Deanna go alone. Not right now. Not even just to bed. Not when her wrist-bone cuts into Cas's stomach and her hipbones dig into Cas's ass. Not when she holds so fast to this, clinging with the cavalier air that pretends she isn't, and not when this is the first time since winter break ended that Cas hasn't initiated the contact between them.

Not when Cas can't sleep from the nerves. Not when curling her hand around Deanna's wrist does nothing to abate them. Not when so many questions linger— _are you okay? you tell me that you are, but I don't think I can believe you. have you eaten today? don't lie to me, are you skipping meals on purpose?_ —and every time Cas tries to ask them, her throat clogs up in some anaphylactic reaction to emotional honesty, her stomach trembles and makes her toes curl up, and her tongue swells up and sticks to the roof of her mouth. As though it's so hard to say that she's worried and Deanna should just interpret it from the way Cas hesitates before rocking back against her hips.

In the back of her mind, Cas knows better than to do this. Knows better than to encourage Deanna. Knows she should probably tell her girlfriend to just shut up and sleep—at the very least, because it's a Thursday night and neither of them has Fridays off—but all she manages to say is, "It's late." As though that's ever stopped them before. "Perhaps I shouldn't be awake. Perhaps you shouldn't be, either."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you're tired, Miss Triple-Shot Espresso?" It's not a dare, for all Deanna tries to make it sound like one. For all she tries to put on that Han Solo drawl. For all she almost nearly gets away with that. The swagger in her voice dies off too early—there's some kind of pleading note, echoed in her fingertips drumming along the hem of Cas's t-shirt—and when Cas rolls over, she's the one who knots her fingers up in Deanna's flannel, who jerks Deanna up into a kiss.

It's only going to be a kiss, except that it isn't. Except that words are hard, and even tangling up with Deanna's, Cas's tongue feels thick and heavy and stupid—she sucks Deanna's lips in like she means to devour them, grinds her mouth against Deanna's because that might spell out what's on her mind instead of making her do it. Cas digs her fingers into the flannel so fiercely that she ends up clawing at her palms; she pulls herself flush against Deanna, tangles up their legs so one of Deanna's thighs gets between her legs, holds Deanna's mouth in this snarling caress until her own lungs burn and Deanna has to yank back, gasp for breath, whisper that she fucking knew Cas was ready for something fun.

She ought to have the heart to tell Deanna that she's tired, she wants to sleep, making out is not the same as sex, but instead, Cas rolls her hips _just so_ —she knocks them into Deanna's and grinds down on Deanna's thigh. Tries to banish any thought of how thin Deanna feels between her legs, how Cas has to move delicately while rubbing along her leg—because if she doesn't? If she lets down her guard, she'll break something, land them in the emergency room and explaining themselves to some asshole nurse who wouldn't understand why this happened, why Cas went along with it. Anyone with any fucking brains wouldn't go along with this. They'd stop kissing Deanna, stop yanking on her shirt, stop listening to the knots of warmth unfurling in the pits of their stomachs.

Not that Deanna helps with any of this timidly teasing into Cas's hips, like she can play coy, like Cas doesn't know that that's a challenge. Snickering all low and throaty, slithering her lips down Cas's cheek and neck. Leaning down to nip at Cas's clavicle. Whispering how much she loves her, Deanna brushes her hands up and down Cas's hips—then smacks Cas's ass, grips on for dear life, drags them careening into each other. And Cas growls—she doesn't grind into Deanna, this time. She fumbles Deanna out of her flannel, tosses it to the floor and misses the heap of laundry. She digs her nails into Deanna's hip (slips her fingers just slightly underneath Deanna's t-shirt, so she can get her hand on skin). She kisses Deanna with a snake-bite snap and throws her back into the mattress.

She shouldn't manage that so easily, and she shouldn't find Deanna's hips so insubstantial when she straddles them—but at least Deanna wriggles underneath her as though nothing's any different from usual. She smirks, trailing a hand down Cas's side, and she just twists her lips up more when Cas smacks her arm away. She moves to say something, coughs up a few disconnected syllables before Cas can lay two fingers over her mouth, before she can hiss, _No, don't. Just be quiet_ —if Deanna has anything to say, it could distract them. If she has any objections, at least the walls are paper-thin and Cas has an excuse to make her shut up. Her stomach writhes around at the thought of it, at the discomforting thought of _making_ Deanna do anything, as though she could.

But at least Deanna's still smiling. At least she writhes underneath of Cas, wriggling and rolling her hips, knocking them up into Cas's in a fluid motion that Cas rides into grinding down on her again, striking her back into the mattress. At least she throws her arms back (bent so her hands and skinny wrists are by her head), the way so many girls do in the pornography she's so fond of—with an unspoken invitation for Cas to pin them there. Cas refuses; the permission helps, but she doesn't need it. She doesn't want what it's offering. _You're beautiful_ , she manages to say, beating back against Deanna's hips when she tries to buck at Cas again, because it makes Deanna smile, and that's so much better than thinking that her hips still dig into Cas's ass more than they should.

She palms at Deanna's sides, wrinkling up her t-shirt, coaxing her out of it. Leaving out the smattered map of freckles all along her shoulders and her torso—Cas goes slowly in lowering herself, stretching out against Deanna's body, and she teases at those freckles first. Kisses over the clusters of them. Works lips and teeth and tongue over them, nips at individual spots, finally curls her fingers around Deanna's arms and grips onto them hard enough that she might leave marks behind—if not from her hands, then from her nails digging into Deanna's skin, scratching without patterns or meter, just dragging down the lines of her bones and her veins. She twists her hands around Deanna's wrists, wishes she had sandpaper on them so the scraping might amount to something—is that normal? She shouldn't want that, should she?

Above her head, Deanna gasps, not in pain or like she's choking for breath, but as though she has to choke back all kinds of moans, strangle them in her throat. Despite her efforts—despite knowing that she shouldn't let this get to her, in any kind of way—Cas's lips twist up like whirls of smoke and she grazes them over the curve of Deanna's shoulder, over the protrusion of her bone and the pattern-less freckles. She flicks her tongue over the salty taste, pauses, kisses the largest group of freckles and kisses it hard—she bites at the skin, sucks at it, bites again and with more and more force behind her motions as she carries on—she'll leave a mark and that's what she needs to do. Cas sighs, once she's content with that; she teases her mouth over Deanna's, but doesn't kiss her there. She only lips at her, jerks her mouth away before Deanna can get the chance.

She doesn't kiss Deanna again until she slithers down her frame and gets a better angle to attack Deanna's neck, and as soon as her lips make contact, Deanna bucks up against her again. Harder, stronger—Cas lets go of Deanna's wrists as she topples back into the mattress, and from how they adjust themselves, the bed scrapes against the floor, knocks back into the wall. Sighing heavily, Cas snakes her arms around Deanna's waist, presses the backs of her fingers into Deanna's ass—the diminished curve doesn't bother her, it doesn't, she's not worried about her girlfriend, not now; Cas's heart only races from the clash between how Deanna meets her when she tries to kick her hips up against the hips battering down on hers, her breath only catches in her throat from Deanna gripping onto her arms—and Cas, in return, slaps Deanna's ass with enough behind her hand that Deanna can't help it and she has to wince, gasp.

Cas watches her face contort in some mix of pleasure and pain, as she bites out one word, _Again_. So she scrapes her fingers along Deanna's hips, nudges her panties and her tiny pajama shorts down and into a bunch around her thighs. She digs her fingers into Deanna's flesh, holds her there for a moment, then pulls back and smacks her again—and she doesn't miss a beat before she trails one hand up the curve of Deanna's back. Gropes her ass again and, going at her back, tries to drag her down again, further and harder and with a whine in the back of her throat as she arches her back, rolls her hips up into Deanna's.

She writhes up into Deanna by way of insisting upon herself. She holds Deanna down in place, holding their bodies together as they rock against each other. They can't find a rhythm, knocking at the same time with too much time between their motions, each waiting for the other to move, then grinding and flailing into each other with humid, stifling desperation. Cas grips onto Deanna's shoulder-blade, curling her nails into the curve that cuts out against Deanna's skin. While Deanna chokes back on another noise, Cas rocks up into her, slips a leg between Deanna's and hammers it up at her. All concern for breaking Deanna or not disappears—she's made it this far without any trouble.

Cas moves her leg against Deanna deliberately, all long and slow about it, holding Deanna in place so she'll feel all of this—all of Cas's writing, jabbing up at her, nudging around underneath and into her. She wants Deanna to feel this the same way that she feels Deanna getting wet for her, feels that sticky slickness spreading out along her skin. The same way that, when she kisses Deanna's cheek, lips at her jaw, licks her neck, she tastes the beads of sweat forming on Deanna's face, trailing down her neck.

In the faint glow from the moon and the street-lamps, Cas makes out the flush that staggers onto Deanna's cheeks, seeps out and down toward her neck. And it's too hard for her to keep quiet anymore. She lets a breathy moan slip out in full force. Cas sighs, arches her back, knocks her hips and thigh up into Deanna again, but only so she can get the leverage to sit up, knock Deanna into her lap as her motions knock the bed into the wall again. She pauses again, hands at Deanna's shoulder and the small of her back, kneading into her too-evident muscles and refusing to let go, no matter how much Deanna wriggles against her, grinds down on Cas's leg her own self. She tries to snicker, but it catches a moan along the way, comes out sounding smothered.

 _What do you want me to do_ —Cas whispers, nudges her lips up against Deanna's skin, nuzzles into her long neck (teetering in its attempts to look sturdy). She doesn't let Deanna answer—not at first. She drives her nails harder into Deanna's skin, gets her gasping instead of acting again, just to keep up with lipping at the curve of her neck. Just to let her breath linger there, curling out into the hollow where her neck meets her collarbone. Cas just exhales, moves her lips and licks up that salty fragrance reeking off Deanna's skin. It won't distract Deanna from her next move, or at least Cas hopes it won't.

It'll just feel warmer, nicer, as Cas presses her fingers into Deanna's flesh, dragging them through the knots in Deanna's muscles in a slow curve away from the small of her back, around her hip, down between her legs. Cas hesitates there, watches Deanna's shoulder instead of her face, teases the backs of two fingers along the slick lips around Deanna's cunt. And finally, she says again— _What do you want, Deanna? What do you want me to do?_

"Isn't that pretty obvious, Girl-Genius?" Deanna manages a snicker this time, draws Cas up into a gentle kiss, bites at her lips like flirting and moves to straddle Cas's hips. "I just want _you_."

And that's more than enough word for Cas, even if it sounds so hollow that Cas can't fully trust it. She nods, pecking at the corner of Deanna's mouth and working her fingers along Deanna's lips, along her opening, gently into her with one finger, just to start things. She inserts another finger, then another, curls them up as they work inside Deanna, presses her knuckles into Deanna's walls, strains to get them any kind of separated, or at least not huddling so close together that it hurts, that Cas feels her bones digging at each other. How Deanna's cunt can still be so tight escapes Cas, but it doesn't matter. Not while she's this deep inside of Deanna and worming around, trying to find more space to work, trying to get deeper still.

And she manages that, makes Deanna moan and thrust back against her, digging Cas's fingers further in. She moans, knocks the bed into the wall. Lets a whine slip out as Cas wriggles her fingers around inside her. Groans—all throaty and deep and sounding as though she's dragged it up from the pit of her stomach—and kicks a sigh out from even deeper than that as Cas knocks her thigh up again, pushes her fingers in up to her third knuckle—if she weren't curled up inside Deanna's neck, eyes closed, Cas probably couldn't even make her fingers out. But she doesn't need to see them at least. It's more than enough to just move them inside of Deanna, following the map of her guttural noises and the breathy ones and all the ways she nudges her hips around.

Deanna moans again, letting her head loll back as she arches into Cas, knocks her tits into Cas's (even through Cas's t-shirt), slithers torso into torso. Apparently, that's the last straw. Just not for her. Someone in the next room over bangs on the wall, and Cas doesn't blame them—they might have one of the lectures that meet at nine AM tomorrow. They might have to share one of those with Cas—but they're not the one who's lost their fingers in their girlfriend. They can talk to Cas when they're working up their better half—she sighs, whispers that they should hurry up, drams the pads of the fingers along the warm insides of Deanna's cunt. She tries to curl them up again, dragging her fingertips down Deanna's walls and nudging her knuckles into Deanna's muscles, even when Deanna clenches down on them.

And she can't keep her other hand on Deanna's shoulder anymore. She drags it away, brushes it along Deanna's side and the hints of her ribcage against her skin, brings it down to her thighs, her cunt. As she works her fingers around inside Deanna, she takes her other hand to task with Deanna's clit, rubbing her fingers over it, then rubbing it between them, holding fast to it as she bucks up into Deanna again. She can't get her fingers deeper, not that it stops her from trying or from putting more force behind her motions.

Not that this means she can't tweak Deanna's clit or squeeze it between her thumb and forefinger as though letting go might kill them both. It doesn't take much longer—a few strokes inside her, another jab of knuckles into muscle, tweaking her clit again and rubbing it in the same rhythm that she uses to rub her insides—Deanna comes with a groan that's sure to wake up the rest of the hall. Sighing, Cas fumbles out of her, grabs at the tissues on her bedside table made out of cardboard packing boxes. And they fall back down to the mattress, facing each other this time, maybe, possibly, getting the chance to fucking sleep.

And as Deanna nods off properly, delicately loses her fingers in Cas's hair, Cas doesn't get that luxury. She doesn't get it until Deanna's still and quiet underneath her arms. Until she doesn't react to the kisses Cas smacks into the skin on her clavicle, all to the rhythm of, _be okay, Deanna. be okay. please, just be okay… please?_


End file.
